


nearer to thee

by Heavenward (PreludeInZ)



Series: Thunderbirds Prompts [19]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I mean, I ship them, The RMS Titanic, They are on a ship, implied shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4500027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreludeInZ/pseuds/Heavenward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a class="tumblelog" href="http://tmblr.co/m8C3nX1XYrnOxVsNlcIO_oQ">tracyislanddeckchair</a> and with sincere thanks for <a href="http://tb5-heavenward.tumblr.com/post/122716249852/ive-had-an-idea">the prompt</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCEfqj9pDAI">This is required.</a> Apologies to those of you with sensitive souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nearer to thee

Sesquicentennial was a funny enough word that she was surprised he could say it with a straight face.

Lady Penelope had learned to expect that calls with Gordon would be thirty-percent flirting, thirty-percent terrible jokes, and a twenty-twenty split between actual business and what Gordon considered actual business, which was generally whatever was going on around Tracy Island. Lady Penelope was remarkably well informed about Grandma Tracy’s cooking.

So the call that came on April 12th, 2061 was entirely more serious than she expected. World Heritage was going to be placing a monument, far in the North Atlantic, to commemorate the hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the Titanic diaster. Gordon had  _begged_  to be the person who placed it. This call, unlike most others, was a hundred percent impassioned pleading.

It threw her off. And made her feel bad, because though she was a member of the World Heritage Society, her political influence only went so far. Once she was quite certain he was serious, she found herself hoping not to let him down.

“I do hope I can make your case, Gordon, but quite honestly I have to ask you not to get your hopes up.”

This failed to diminish his earnestness in the slightest. “I know. No, I mean, I know that. I’m not. But–well, I’m calling a year early. If that’s not enough time to get my name in–”

“As I said, Gordon, I’ll do my best.” Lady Penelope paused, and felt it would be dishonest not to caution him about the reality of the wreck’s location. “To be honest, I can’t understand your interest. There’s really nothing  _there_  any longer–preservation efforts dwindled during the years leading up to the Global Conflict, and what’s left is mostly rust. World Heritage has long declared the site closed to all submarine traffic. It’s a cemetery now, and nothing more. May I ask why it’s so important?”

Gordon had been quiet for a moment, and then flashed a sort of half-smile at her. “Heh. Yeah, probably that comes out of left field. I’m not the family history buff. Tell you what, though. In a year, whatever way it’s gone, I’ll tell you then. I’m gonna be there, one way or the other, even if it’s only topside. How about that?”

Well, she couldn’t ask for fairer than that. And patience was a virtue.

* * *

It’s that year later, and she’s joined him on the deck of a specially commissioned ocean liner out in the middle of the North Atlantic. A GDF crew mans the ship, a GDF pilot had taken a submersible to place the monument from the World Heritage Society. This is over and done, with a quiet ceremony. The weather’s chill, and the wind on deck is frigid. There’s a reception inside, a small, tasteful affair. Historians, descendants of passengers, representatives from various governments, a few attaches from the World Council. The deck is almost deserted. A few other people are scattered about, talking quietly and watching the sunlight glint off distant icebergs. Gordon’s leaning on the railing staring out over the water when Lady Penelope approaches, bundled in a peacoat and scarf, and clears her throat.

“I hope you’re not disappointed,” she says softly, when he turns and smiles.

He shrugs and rubs a gloved hand at the back of his neck. He’s got a knitted cap on, gloves, scarf, and a rather conservative black parka, in deference to the solemnity of the occasion. It occurs to Penelope that probably he’s freezing. None of the Tracys have ever been particularly tolerant of the cold, but Gordon least of all. “Nah. No, I mean. Was a long shot, I guess. Still, I’m glad I got to be here. I’m not disappointed.”

If he’s lying, she can’t tell. Lady Penelope joins him at the railing and puts a hand on his arm, apologetic. “You never did tell me why you wanted to visit the site so badly.”

Gordon’s so rarely serious, and she isn’t quite sure how to read him as the slight smile fades, and he looks away, out over the water again. He toys with a loose thread on the finger of one of his gloves for a long time, and after this uncharacteristically long pause, he answers. “I did a history report on it, back in school. Seventh grade, first year in junior high, you know, when school starts to seem  _serious_. Ahh–you got that fancy English school thing, though, maybe school was always serious for you. Anyway. New school, first class, pick a topic and do a history report; it  _seemed_  serious. I’m not great about serious, and the teacher made it sound so  _important_. I got really hung up, didn’t know what to do, so I went to my mom.”

Lady Penelope knows very little about Lucille Tracy–at least, very little about the way her boys feel about her. Lady Penelope knows what happened. Knows it was tragic, knows it changed every one of them–but she never met the woman. And Gordon, certainly, has never mentioned his mother. Not in the middle of all the jokes and the flirting that are the standard, when talking to Gordon. Penelope leans in a little closer, and hopes he takes the hint to continue.

“She got so excited. It was just some dumb project, but she was off like a rocket, all kinds of suggestions.” Gordon’s tone is fond, wistful. “You had to know my mom, and the way she could get excited about stuff. The Titanic thing was her idea, and she knew everything about it already. But she made me do my own research and I got hooked.” Gordon glances up, finds Penelope listening intently and she almost imagines he’s a little bit shy, that the slight flush in his cheeks is more than just the chill of the wind.

“She knew I would, too. Got an A on the report–and I wasn’t a kid who  _got_  As–she was just so proud. And from then on we just had something together. Mom had music with Virgil and space with John, and then all of a sudden there was this whole other thing, and it was just her and me. We used to talk about it for _hours_. Books and movies, documentaries, museums…”

Penelope nods, smiles slightly. “It’s a captivating story. It’s easy to get lost in it.”

“It’s  _unreal_.” Gordon, clearly, can get just as excited as the woman Penelope had never met. “It seems like it should just be a story. Right? But it really happened, and that just pulls you in. And not just the ship, not just the night it went down–although that’s something else  _entirely_ –”

“ _A Night to Remember_ ,” Lady Penelope quotes softly and the way Gordon turns to look at her, the way his eyes find hers–it might be the first time they’ve had something in common. She wouldn’t have guessed they’d find it in the middle of the North Atlantic. She continues, reflective, “ All that hubris, all that tragedy. All those terribly human moments, all that bravery–”

“The wireless operators–”

“Ida and Isidor Straus–”

“Molly  _Brown_. What a hell of a lady.” The sheer reverence in Gordon’s voice makes Lady Penelope feel a warm little glow of affection. “The ship’s band.”

This strikes a chord with Lady Penelope. “Oh, but can you even imagine? And _here_. A hundred and fifty years ago,  _here_ ,” Penelope says softly and absently hums the opening few notes. Then, still half to herself, in her lilting soprano and just loud enough that he’s the only one who’d hear, “ _Nearer, my God, to thee–_ ”

Gordon freezes. “Don’t. No,  _please_  don’t.” His hand clasps her arm a little sharply, and she stops, startled. He lets go almost immediately and she catches just a glimpse of his eyes, brightening, as he leans over the railing, looking down. Gordon’s voice has gotten clipped, covering some obvious emotion.“Sorry. I didn’t mean–sorry, that was out of line. It’s just how it’s what Virgil and John played. At her funeral. I mean, I asked them to, but–I can’t–I haven’t heard it since.”

Lady Penelope is the absolute epitome of grace, and certainly she wouldn’t want to do anything against Gordon’s wishes. “I’m sorry, Gordon. I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Carefully she tries to change the subject, “–I didn’t know John was musical. Piano, or…?”

“Violin, but he hasn’t since. Was the last thing John played, and that’s sad in its own way. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…jeez, I didn’t mean to get so serious. Don’t mind me.”

Clearly he doesn’t want to have this moment, here and now, and yet–Penelope pauses and then, gently, with all the empathy from the long absence of her own mother, “You must miss her terribly.”

There’s a quick, tight nod and then the way he’s drawn his shoulders down, hunched himself over the rail to stare down at the water. Somehow the already raw sense of emotion tips over a point, and her heart aches a little at the way his grief seems so fresh. It’s a long time, quite possibly the longest she’s ever heard him leave a lull in a conversation before he speaks up again, “She’s been gone for longer than I knew her. This year. That’s harder than I thought it would be, all this time and every single day there’s still something I wish I’d asked her, said to her. And…I don’t know. It’s hard to go to the place where she is. I guess I thought I should go someplace we always wanted to go together.”

“I’m sorry she’s not here with you.”

“Yeah. Me too.” There’s another silence, but shorter this time and when he looks up, he’s smiling again, even if his eyes are still bright, and he sniffs slightly, coughs to try and pass it off as the cold. This is utterly transparent, though he seems to have . “Glad you’re here, though. Thanks for…well, I don’t know. For saying all the things she would’ve said. I didn’t think this was–I mean, I thought it was just your history thing. World Heritage. I didn’t know you’d really care so much.”

Penelope smiles. “Likewise. It’s a very unexpected side to you, Gordon, but I’m glad we both have it to share. And I’m honoured to have something in common with your mother.”

Gordon nods, rubs at his nose. “Yeah. Yeah, she’d have liked you.” He looks back down at the water, wistful again. “It’s funny, how it’s just like every other bit of ocean in the world–I mean, accounting for latitude and weather–the ocean’s the ocean. But…a place like this, if you know what happened–”

“You’d never know it was here. And yet.”

“And yet,” he agrees.

Rather theatrically, hoping to lighten the mood, Lady Penelope shivers. “It’s dreadfully cold out here, Gordon. Would you come back belowdecks with me? I’m sorry you weren’t able to do the dive to the site this time, but–well, there’ll be a commission to ensure the area remains well-protected, and I’d very much like to introduce you to the crew whose been responsible for the security of the area. If you’d like, I can even recommend you for membership to the board of directors for the preservation of the site. World Heritage requested a GDF submersible for this occasion largely for political reasons, but going forward, if you’d volunteer–”

“Really?” Gordon’s voice is genuinely bright, hopeful. “Really, because that’d be _amazing_. Yeah. Yeah, absolutely. Do you know much about that first dive, the expedition that  _found it_? Because I know it backwards and forwards and I’ll talk your ear off if you let me. It’s this whole other story on top of the first.”

There’s nothing that Lady Penelope enjoys more than hearing people speak passionately about subjects in which they’re well-versed. She’s entirely sincere when she answers, “It would be my genuine pleasure.”

He hesitates just a moment, as she reaches for his arm. “I’ll catch up with you, though. If that’s okay. If you’re cold, yeah, uh. Head on below, I didn’t mean to keep you out here so long. It’s freezing. Just…You go and I’ll stay a while.”

Lady Penelope nods, steps back. “Of course. Take care, Gordon.”

“Thanks, Lady P.”

And, in deference to what he shares with the mother he lost, Lady Penelope leaves him be. But before she leaves the deck, she takes one last look at him, a solitary figure at the edge of the deck, dark against the pale grey sky. Gordon, and the things you’d never know were there.


End file.
